


Knowing How You Are

by Bennyhatter



Series: Knowing [2]
Category: The Walking Dead
Genre: Alternate Universe - No Zombie Apocalypse, BDSM, But that's okay because he's got Rick, Daryl needs so many hugs, Dom/sub, Dominant!Rick, Guys Daryl is bad at taking care of himself, M/M, SSC, Safe Sane and Consensual, Submissive!Daryl, Talk of safe words, bottom!daryl, scarred character, tattooed character, top!rick, virgin!Daryl
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-14
Updated: 2016-03-14
Packaged: 2018-05-26 15:14:38
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,173
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6244768
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bennyhatter/pseuds/Bennyhatter
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When the bike falls on Daryl, he doesn't think much of it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Knowing How You Are

**Author's Note:**

> I had mentioned I wanted to write more for this 'verse. Well, I totally went backwards and wrote the 'beginning' to everything, if you wanna call it that.
> 
> Daryl has such bad self-esteem guys someone please just hug him forever.
> 
> Fuck yes Dominant!Rick/submissive!Daryl adorableness. Because not everything can be about down'n'dirtyfilthy sex. Although I'm not gonna lie, that's wonderful too.
> 
> Remember: Safe, Sane, and Consensual!

When the motorcycle hits him at just the right angle to bruise his ribs and dislocate his shoulder, Daryl doesn’t really think much of it. He’s used to a lifetime of continuing on through much worse pains, so he grits his teeth and gets the shop’s owner, Dale, to help him pop his shoulder back into place. The kind, older mechanic tries to convince him to go to the doctor, but Daryl waves him off. It’s not that he doesn’t have insurance—he just doesn’t see the need to rush in for something that it ultimately so insignificant. So he fills out an incident report, lays into Len for being so fucking careless as to knock over the bike in the first place, and spends the rest of his day answering phones and handling customers because Dale won’t let him back around the motorcycles until he’s healed.

Daryl honestly doesn’t think it’s a big deal. Compared to the beatings he got that have left ugly, jagged scars all across his back and over his abdomen, a dislocated shoulder is fairly tame. He finishes off his day on desk duty as calmly as he can and drives back to his modest one-bedroom apartment to get ready for his date—and God does that word still make him want to squirm and blush—with Rick. At least he has that to look forward to after the annoyances of his day and the incompetence of Dale’s other employees.

The deputy had approached Daryl a month ago at the bar he likes to frequent after work sometimes. At first he’d been pretty sure that the man was only talking to him because of some sort of dare, but Rick had seemed genuinely interested him for whatever reason. The conversation had been a little painful for Daryl, who isn’t the best at talking to people (yelling doesn’t count), but his nervous wariness had seemed to draw something out of the gorgeous man that Daryl had reacted to on a subconscious level.

Rick inspires a feeling of safety in him that he’s not at all used to. It’s something Daryl has discovered that he craves, and he craves the dominance that exudes from the deputy even if he’s not sure why he reacts to it the way he does. They’ve seen each other a few times since that night at the bar, and the feeling gets stronger every time Daryl is standing in front of the older man.

Anticipation makes him hurry through stripping out of his work clothes. He barely pays attention to the bruises that are blooming vividly around his shoulder and down his side; ignores the ache as he rushes to shower and dry off before putting on some nicer clothes—which he dictates the cleanliness of by the fact that the jeans aren’t stained and the shirt miraculously has sleeves. He wonders what it says about Rick, that he makes Daryl this eager even when he’s not around.

He wonders what it says about him, that he’s twenty-six years old and he’s still a virgin in all the ways that count; that he hopes Rick will be the one to change that. Contact had never been important to Daryl. He’s never had very good experiences with people, and most of the time he’s happy to keep to the shadows while everyone else walks through the light.

Rick makes him want to be seen, even if it’s only by the deputy, and Daryl doesn’t realize that he’s trembling because of that until he grips the handles of his motorcycle. He tries to calm his breathing the entire way to Rick’s house, and for the most part he’s successful. That is, until he rings the doorbell and his hands start shaking again.

When Rick opens the door with a smile and his wavy curls falling every which way, the rest of the world fades away. Daryl feels his cheeks warm as he smiles awkwardly and ducks his head.

“Sorry ‘m late.”

“It’s okay. Dinner isn’t quite ready yet. Come in.”

The deputy is courteous enough to wait until the door is firmly closed before leaning in to kiss Daryl. He sighs happily and kisses back, bringing his arms up and wrapping them around Rick’s shoulders. The injured one still hurts, but it’s easy for him to ignore when he’s got Rick to focus on. The man has a wicked tongue, and he leads the kiss easily; takes control in a way that makes Daryl whine quietly and try to press closer as his pulse quickens.

“Not here, darlin’,” Rick rumbles as he pulls back. Daryl bites back another sound, but his face must convey his disappointment, because Rick chuckles and rubs a thumb across his lower lip. “I’m gonna feed you first, Daryl, and then we’ll go from there.”

“D’you mean we’re gonna...” He can’t bring himself to say it, because “fuck” sounds too crass and “making love” is too ridiculous even when he says it in his own head. Just calling it sex is too impersonal, so he trails off and tilts his face toward Rick in hopes of another kiss he’s too shy to outright ask for.

“Let’s just see how the night goes.” Rick grants him another kiss, cupping a hand against the side of Daryl’s face for him to nuzzle into. When the deputy pulls back, his blue eyes are dark and wanting, but his smile is soft. “Come on. Let’s go to the kitchen.”

Daryl follows, glancing around to take in the house. He’s been here before, but it still amazes him how one person can inhabit so much space. Christ, sometimes he feels like he’s suffocating in the emptiness of his apartment, and that’s much smaller than Rick’s home. Maybe it’s just that he doesn’t like to be alone.

The kitchen is nice and spacious, full of gleaming metal appliances and dark counters. Daryl slides onto a stool at the breakfast bar and watches Rick move fluidly around the room. He gets a bottle of water for Daryl and smiles at his murmured thanks before turning around to tend to the pots boiling on the stove. One of is full of red sauce, and Daryl can’t stop himself from curiously sniffing the air. He can’t stop the grin that spreads across his lips either.

“Spaghetti?”

“You strike me as the kind of guy who likes simple food,” Rick chuckles. “Considering that you usually stick to burgers and fries at the places we go, I figured spaghetti would be welcome. I also remember the look on your face when we went to that fancy steak restaurant.”

“’S ‘cause there ain’t no damn reason for a steak t’ cost sixty bucks,” Daryl grumbles around the rim of his bottle. “’S fuckin’ highway robbery.”

“I won’t argue with that. I figured I’d save the hundred-dollar steaks for our tenth date. Do something special to mark the occasion.”

Daryl chokes on his next mouthful of water and ends up spitting it across the polished surface of the island. Rick is quick to drop the spoon he’s been stirring the sauce with and come around to pat and rub his back.

“Easy, darlin’, I was just joking. Let it out, Daryl. Just breathe.”

Rick’s voice is low and soothing, and his hand would feel wonderful if not for Daryl’s damn shoulder. When one pat lands a little too firmly, he can’t stop the way he twitches and hisses out a pained breath. The deputy’s hand shifts immediately away from the spot.

“Daryl?”

“’S nothin’, I’m fine.”

“Daryl,” Rick says again, his voice dipping low and his eyes narrowing slightly.

“Seriously, Rick, ‘s fine.” Daryl shivers at the way the man rumbles, tilting his head back just slightly in response.

“What happened?”

“Spaghetti’s gonna burn, ‘s what’s happenin’.” _Please just let it go._

Rick leaves long enough to turn the burners off and then he’s back, brushing his fingers just lightly against the hurt shoulder and frowning when Daryl bites his lower lip and tilts his head down to hide behind his bangs.

“Told ya ‘s fine.”

“If it’s fine, then you shouldn’t have any trouble telling me what happened, Daryl. You’re hurt. I want to know why.”

“Just got knocked by a bike at work. Ain’t a big deal.”

“How badly?”

“Christ, we really gonna do this now?” He can’t fully tamp down his flare of annoyance, because he’s _fine_ , it’s not that big of a deal. He’s had so much worse before. One look at Rick’s face, though—at the way his eyes have gone dark with something that isn’t quite anger but still makes Daryl swallow painfully—and he has to duck his head again. “’M sorry, ‘s just… I’ve had worse, Rick. Just dislocated my shoulder. Dale helped me pu-”

“You dislocated your shoulder and you didn’t go to the doctor?”

Rick’s voice has gone quiet in a way that speaks toward dangerous outcomes. Daryl can’t stop his flinch, and he curls in on himself with an uncertain whine.

“Ain’t needed ta go, Rick. Got it back in with Dale’s help. ‘S fine, honest. Can we just eat?”

Realizing that Daryl is uncomfortable, Rick steps forward and gently lifts his face until he’s looking up at the deputy and chewing on his lip. He’s starting to realize that he’s fucked things up—that they were supposed to have a nice dinner and maybe something more afterwards, and now Daryl’s ruined it because he couldn’t be a man and ignore a little soreness from a stupid injury that isn’t even that bad.

“I’m sorry,” he whispers, pressing closer to Rick and trying to figure out how to fix this. He doesn’t fall off the stool so much as slide to the ground, and Rick looks concerned at how hard his knees hit the floor. Daryl doesn’t give him the chance to say anything as he rises up onto his smarting knees as high as he can and looks up at the deputy. His hands fist in his shirt when Rick crosses his arms over his chest, and he makes a soft, mournful noise. “’M sorry, Rick, wasn’t meanin’ ta make ya angry. I’ll do better, I swear. Jus’ please don’ leave.”

Daryl can handle anyone else walking out of his life, but he knows he won’t be able to handle Rick doing it. He’s known the man for all of a month, but something in him calls to the deputy so strongly that he feels a surge of panic at the thought of this particular person deciding he’s not worth the trouble—which he isn’t, he knows that—and leaving him behind.

“Jesus, Daryl.” Rick reaches down to cup his cheek again and he nuzzles his face into the man’s palm, feeling too close to tears and fearful as he stares up at the deputy. “No, sweetheart, I’m not gonna leave you. Not because of this. I’m just upset because you’re not taking your health seriously like you should be. What if it had been something worse?”

“It ain’t,” Daryl rushes to promise, turning his face to press kisses to the base of Rick’s palm and his wrist. He’s never been a touchy-feely person, but when he’s with Rick he feels almost _starved_ for contact. He needs it, needs the gentle touches and reassurance that this man who has so quickly become his world needs Daryl for more than just a warm body in his bed. The fact that they haven’t had sex—haven’t even been naked in front of each other—is promising, but now he wonders if waiting because of his shyness and his trepidation was the best idea. What if Rick has grown tired of waiting? What if he finds someone more confident and decides they're more suited to him?

“Daryl, any injury is a serious concern. You _dislocated your shoulder_. How is that not worth at least a phone call to a doctor?” Rick sounds more upset than furious, like Daryl’s lack of care about his health is truly distressing to him.

“’Cause it ain’t the first time.” The words fall out before he can think enough to stop them, and he freezes when Rick goes carefully still. He feels like he’s in the presence of a lion, and when Rick pets through his long, wild hair he thinks of animals biting at and grooming each other.

“When else has this happened? Has it been since we met?”

“No.” Daryl ducks his head and leans forward to press his face into Rick’s stomach, leaving his arms by his sides because he trusts the deputy to keep him steady—which he does. “No,” he says again, his voice growing small and quiet. “Ain’t been since my daddy died.”

Something akin to a growl rumbles out of Rick, and the sheer possessiveness of the noise is enough to make Daryl shiver and moan quietly. His own sound startles him enough that he leans back to look up at Rick when the man crosses his arms again.

“Your father hurt you.” It’s not a question. Daryl can’t find his voice, so he nods with wide eyes. “Frequently, I’m guessing.” He nods again and bites at his lip, watching the way Rick’s eyes flash. “Stop that,” the man says, and so Daryl stops instantly; leaves his mouth open and whines. He isn’t at all expecting the way his body reacts to the command in Rick’s tone—how his hips buck helplessly and arousal throbs low in his belly. Rick sees it all and pauses. Something blooms to life in his eyes, and Daryl watches the way his body language changes subtly.

“I want you to get up off the floor, Daryl. You’re gonna come with me. Easy, darlin’.” Rick has to reach out and steady Daryl when he scrambles to his feet too quickly, eager to obey and avoid punishment. Not that he thinks Rick would ever hurt him, but old habits are hard to break. “We’re gonna go to the bedroom, Daryl, and I want you to take off your clothes. Can you do that for me, sweetheart?”

“Thought we was gonna eat first.” He’s already moving despite his confusion, keeping close to Rick and trying not to run in the other direction as they move toward the bedroom. The deputy pulls away long enough to close and lock the door before turning to face Daryl again and tilting his head thoughtfully.

“Are you really that hungry, or will you be able to wait for a little longer?”

“Can wait,” Daryl mumbles, feeling shy and nervous but more hesitant than anything. “Ain’t that badly hungry. What…” He swallows and licks his lips, catching the way Rick follows the path his tongue takes and stifling another noise. “What do ya want me ta do?”

Rick exhales heavily through his nose, like he’s preparing for something a lot more monumental than sex. “I want you to take your clothes off, fold them, and put them on the foot of the bed. And then I want you to give me a spin, darlin’. I wanna see you. All of you.”

Daryl feels his cheeks burning hotly. He hesitates, fingers twitching, and Rick sees it immediately.

“What’s wrong, sweetheart?”

“’S just… Ain’t no one seen me shirtless since I was thirteen,” he mutters. Rubbing at the back of his neck, he closes his eyes and tries to take a steadying breath. “Haven’t let anyone see in a long time.”

“Daryl, can you look at me?” Rick asks gently. He cracks open one eye and watches the man warily, waiting for the explosion that is sure to come. “I will never force you to do something you’re not comfortable with. If it feels like I’m pushing you toward that, you tell me to stop and I will.”

“Will you?” He doesn’t mean to sound suspicious, and thankfully Rick doesn’t look offended.

“You know how stoplights work? Red means stop, yellow means slow, and green means go ahead?” It’s such a sudden topic change that Daryl blinks, trying to figure out the significance of a traffic light in this situation.

“Yeah…” The man is going somewhere with this, he’s just not sure where. Unsure of what else to do, he shoves his hands into his pockets and watches Rick through the fringe of his bangs. “What about it?”

“If you had to pick a color for this situation, right now, what would it be? What do you need, darlin’? Do you need to stop, slow down, or are you good to go? I want total honesty, Daryl. I want to know how _you_ feel, not how you think _I_ want you to feel.”

Daryl rocks back and forth on his feet and chews on the inside of his lip, trying to do as Rick has asked. He’s not willing to stop completely, but he’s not sure about stripping down to nothing and twirling for the man, either. That really leaves only one option.

“Yellow,” he decides quietly, glancing toward the older man to see if he’s angry and finding a radiant smile instead.

“What do you need, Daryl?”

“I don’t know,” he whispers, and it feels like he’s failed and done something right for once at the same time. “I don’t know what ta do.” _Tell me what to do._

“Would you be able to take your shirt off for me?”

Swallowing thickly, Daryl shrugs his good shoulder. “Could maybe try.” God, half an hour ago all he wanted was for them to be naked and pressed together. Now that he’s here, standing in Rick’s bedroom and playing with the buttons on his shirt nervously, all he wants is to bolt. He doesn’t want Rick to see the marks of cruelty that litter his skin. Daryl doesn’t want this strong, gorgeous man to see how broken he really is.

“I would like that, sweetheart. And if at any point it gets to be too much, you just say a color and we’ll go from there. I swear I won’t be mad. Your comfort is the most important thing to me, Daryl.”

Sucking in a fortifying breath, Daryl begins to unbutton his shirt, starting from the bottom and working his way up slowly. His body is shaking but his hands are surprisingly steady. He wants to do this, wants to give Rick everything, but at the same time he’s pretty sure he knows how this is going to turn out. Rick will see his scars, see the manifestation of damages that can never be fixed and run deeper than the surface, and send Daryl on his way the same as everyone else who he ever tried to get close to, back when he still had enough in him to try. No one needs a loud-mouthed bike mechanic who’s too needy for his own good. His brother raised him better than that, and his daddy tried to beat the lessons into him, and yet here he is: still gay, still clingy, and still good for nothing. Rick will see it soon enough, and he’s the only person Daryl’s ever met that will end up being his destruction—someone who matters enough to make a difference to the point that watching him walk away will drive the lesson home for Daryl in a way that no faded scar ever could.

“What color, Daryl?” Rick asks him, just before the last button is slipped from the hole. Daryl pauses, looking at the man, and sees so much tenderness and worry in those storm-blue eyes that it buoys him the last little bit he needs to go through with this.

_Everything or nothing. Creation or destruction._

“Yellow,” he says again, whisper-soft and fleeting, and then he unbuttons the last barrier between himself and his fate and lets the shirt slide to the floor before turning to show Rick his ruined back. He closes his eyes, clenches his fists, and waits for the guillotine to fall.

For a moment, nothing happens. Rick breathes, Daryl trembles, and no shouts shatter the fragile silence like gunshots. When fingers gently touch his spine, he startles so badly that his neck cracks.

“Easy, darlin’, I’ve got you. You’re okay.” The man’s voice is a low croon, his palms warm when they cup Daryl’s shoulder blades and sweep down his broad back to span across his narrow waist. Dry, soft lips brush against one of the demons crawling up toward his right shoulder, and he shudders at the careful press of them.

“When did you get these?” the deputy questions, and somehow he knows he’s not talking about all of the scars.

“When I was sixteen,” he mutters, closing his eyes and trying to calm his frantic heartbeat down to a more acceptable level. “Friend’a Merle’s gave ‘em ta me for my birthday.”

“Why demons?”

Daryl tips his head back and finds Rick’s collarbone, resting there and breathing consciously as the man brushes careful touches to skin that has persevered enough to weave itself together again over and over, but never quite managed to do it perfectly. “Some lady once told me I had demons on my shoulders; that I wasn’t never gonna be free of ‘em until I found th’ strength ta banish ‘em. Guess I wanted a reminder.”

“And did you find the strength?” Rick whispers in his ear before pressing a series of soft, tender kisses down the line of his throat.

Daryl shakes his head, feeling himself sinking into a place of relaxation and contentment that he’s never felt before. He goes limp against Rick, trusting that the man will keep him steady just like he did out in the kitchen and humming when he’s proved right again. Strong arms wrap around his waist and pull him back against the deputy’s body, the two of them fitting together pretty well considering that they’re almost the same height.

“You don’t think you did?”

“I know I didn’t,” he sighs quietly, letting his eyes flutter closed and making a tiny sound in the back of his throat when he feels teeth scrape over one of the tendons in his neck. He bucks back against the hips pressed against his ass, moaning a little louder.

“I don’t agree.” Rick soothes the faint hurt with a broad swipe of his tongue. “I think you’ve found enough strength to banish those demons. I think you did it a long time ago.”

“How d’ya figure?” Limp and drifting through a haze he’s not quite sure how to name, Daryl lets himself be turned and drawn into a kiss. It’s deep and possessive and still so sweet, and he whines as he opens his mouth to Rick for more.

“If you hadn’t banished ‘em, sweetheart, we wouldn’t be here right now. I’d say that marks a victory for you.”

Rick coaxes him back to lay on the bed, pecking a kiss against his lips before sitting down beside Daryl on the mattress instead of crawling over the mechanic like he was hoping. He knows the man isn’t planning on leaving, but he reaches out and grabs his hand anyway; plays with his fingers until they curl over his own and rest on his chest.

“That light thing,” he murmurs, keeping his eyes open with effort and looking up at Rick shyly through his lashes. “Wha’s that fer?”

“To keep you safe, darlin’.” A hand pets through his hair, gently detangling it and making him melt even further into the sheets. Daryl has never felt this relaxed before with another person—has never felt safe enough to let his guard down like he’s doing for Rick now. When he makes a confused noise, the deputy smiles and presses a kiss to the mole at the side of Daryl’s mouth. He tries to hide it with his moustache, but his facial hair is a little lighter than the rest of his hair, which makes it easier to see if someone’s close enough to look. “I have a very particular interest when it comes to sexual encounters, Daryl. I am a Dominant lover, and I know you’re a submissive. I also know that you have no idea about anything in relation to the lifestyle I live. I want to teach you all about it, if you’d be willing to let me.”

“What’ve I gotta know?” Rolling his head to the side, he inhales the scent of Rick that clings to his pillow and curls over onto his uninjured side so he’s facing the man and looking up at him. “Just gotta to what ya tell me?”

“It’s a little more in-depth than that, darlin’.” Rick stretches out onto his side too, so Daryl scoots toward the middle of the bed to give the man room without being asked. When they’re laying side-by-side, he burrows into Rick’s warmth and lays his head on the man’s chest so that he can listen to the sound of his heartbeat. A hand returns to his head, fingers running gently through the long strands, and he sighs in bliss.

“So what is it?”

“First and foremost, Daryl, whatever we do will be about safety. It will be consensual, and if ever there is something you are not comfortable with, something you don’t like, I need you to tell me. We can set up different words if you want, I just used the stoplight system so you’d have an easy way to tell me no. Because you are allowed to tell me no, Daryl, and if you tell me no, then whatever we’re doing stops.”

“Can’t I just say no?”

“Sometimes, we might do something where you’ll say no but you won’t mean it. This way, I’ll recognize that we need to slow down or stop completely. There will be no confusion.”

Rick is murmuring the words against his hair, his voice low and rumbling soothingly. It reminds Daryl of waterfalls and mountain springs—growing up in the forest and learning the art of survival there, because survival was never a guaranteed thing within the walls of his childhood home. Safety was never a concern of anyone, and trust was a fragmented dream shattered upon a ground that had soaked up too much blood and pain to ever be washed clean.

“And if I use these words, you’ll listen?”

“Every time.”

“How do I know you’ll actually do what ya say?” It’s not that he wants to doubt Rick, but Daryl grew up learning that no one ever cared what he had to say—no one gave a damn what he wanted. His father never stopped if he begged him to, Merle never stayed if he pleaded; his mom never stopped smoking when he told her no.

“Because, Daryl, aside from being safe, sane, and consensual, the trust has to be there. You need to trust me when I say that I will never, ever hurt you in a way you do not want, and I need to trust that you will actually use your safe words if you need to. Without trust, all of this falls apart.”

They curl around one another and exchange slow, relaxed kisses and reverent touches. The reverence isn’t just him, Daryl is beginning to notice. He touches Rick like he’s in awe that someone so bright and strong could ever want to lower themselves to his level. Rick touches him like he’s amazed Daryl’s here, and that someone so wholly _deserving_ of affection could ever think themselves unwanted. He runs his hands all over Daryl’s chest and back, touching the scars like they don’t matter—like they’re not horrible reminders of anything, but instead visible marks of courage on someone who slogged through horrible circumstances and came out on the other side.

“I think I love ya,” Daryl whispers against calloused fingertips when they trail across his lips. It should be a terrifying statement, because it’s only been a month. He shouldn’t trust Rick this much, shouldn’t feel so lost when he’s not with this man who holds him up and keeps him steady. “I think I love ya, an’ I’m not even afraid.”

“Love should never be frightening, Daryl.” Warm hands frame his cheeks, tilting his face up so Rick can brush the words across Daryl’s mouth like stars being painted over an endless night sky. The depth of feeling is a bottomless pool, and Daryl whines softly as he presses closer. “Love is patient, and wonderful. It builds stronger bonds than we can even comprehend.”

“Ain’t never thought love could be anythin’ but painful,” he confesses in a whisper.

“That’s because no one ever took the time to show you what love is really like. You never had anyone to take care of you.”

Leaning back a little to meet Rick’s eyes, Daryl bites his lip and can’t help but smile when the deputy reaches up to tug the flesh free from his teeth and brush his thumb against it. “And you’ll show me? You’ll guide me an’ take care’a me? Ain’t so good at doin’ that m’self.”

“I’ll take care of you every day, sweetheart.” Rick smiles slowly and presses a kiss to his mouth, licking at the bitten part until Daryl shifts against him and moans softly. “I’ll give you the world, Daryl, and I’ll give you all my love. You trust me t’ do that, darlin’?”

“Yeah, I trust ya.” And he’s not even lying about it.

Rick stretches him slowly, breathing loving endearments across his flesh while Daryl arches and writhes and falls to pieces beneath him; clutches at his lover’s strong, unbreakable back when the man slides inside of him for the first time and the world explodes in a way he’d never thought it could. They rock together, their pace slow and unhurried until Daryl locks his ankles at the dip of Rick’s spine and begs for more, begs for everything. Rick gives it to him, gives him everything Daryl never even knew existed and promises him so much more.

When he comes, he throws his head back and pants raggedly, too overwhelmed to make a sound. Rick shudders and follows, their skin slick from sweat and Daryl’s cum against their stomachs as they curl up together and nuzzle kisses against each other’s faces.

“I promised you dinner first. The spaghetti’s probably a lost cause by now, but I’m sure we can figure something out,” Rick murmurs against his damp, sweaty temple. Daryl hums in agreement and licks up a few beads of sweat from his lover’s throat, already addicted to the taste of Rick.

“Just so long as I ain’t gotta leave yet,” he murmurs.

“Oh, sweetheart, you’re not going anywhere. Not until you decide you want to.”

Rick grins at him, and Daryl’s own smile is shy and sweet in return. “What if I never wanna go nowhere?”

“Then I will gladly take care of you every day for the rest of our lives. Sound good to you, darlin’?”

That sounds pretty fucking perfect to Daryl.


End file.
